


Murmurations

by lucyraebrown



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/M, London, M/M, Multi, Original Characters - Freeform, Original work - Freeform, Sequel, Werewolf, bitten
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-01-13 04:24:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21238124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyraebrown/pseuds/lucyraebrown
Summary: Sequel to 'Black Flies'A year later, the tables have turned. Greycrest is now the superior pack among the Epping, leaving a disillusioned alpha and his pack fighting for survival after his favorite member disbands the collective. Defiant's alpha turns to Andrew Davie for help, and although his roots demand he stays loyal to his mother Greycrest, the fear of his kind's diminish due to a new killer overrules his head and hits like a bullet to the chest. Desperate for peace among the packs and protection to his family, Davie must decide where his heart is in order to balance the nature between man and wolf.





	1. Time You Know You Can't Get Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Defiant's reign of pack dominance has fallen due to a new line of werewolves in Greycrest, so Brent goes to Davie pleading for help in response to his greatest possession leaving the pack.

Time You Know You Can't Get Back

"Eli, go long!" Cries the alpha as he tosses the football across the moor, watching as his small friend runs back crosswise the wet grass, his gold eyes intent on the ball as it speeds through the evening sky at lightning speed. It sparkles in the sunset, pigskin swirling about the orange and yellow heavens as it reaches twenty yards over.

"I've got it, I've got it, I-" The werewolf stumbles over his bare feet at the end of the jog, finding the football comes crashing beside his form before his hands are quick enough to grab it. He pouts, staring down at the enemy like it was slaughtered prey. "I don't got it. Sorry, sir!"

Brent wipes a bead of sweat from his fur, licking it off his nail before shaking his head. "All good, you're just not a long distance kind of dog. You'll get better, we have the rest of the warm months to improve the game." He approaches the servant and ruffles his long brown locks with a giggle, the boy blushing as he watches the wolf retrieve the ball between his black claws. "Practice makes perfect, my love."

The moment passes like a bird in flight as Brenton paces his territory, finding the corpse of the deflated football between a few green thickets. He shoves the needles off, watching the attempt to shape the toy disappear as it brings further air out. With a stern huff, the creature kicks it to the ground, stepping on it and continuing with his stroll.

He had been walking the acreage for hours, maybe even a day's time, his brain racing with the thought of terror and blood reeking out from his pack. Fire engulfs the beautiful manor in his head as a single match brings the foundation to ash. Pups are shot with bows and arrows, elders are dragged by their throats, knived to shreds and spilling plasma across the grounds by a giant wolf, one too big to be one of his own. Even he is dying in his mind, laying amongst the grasses with his ribs sticking out like sore thumbs from starvation as the night falls. Whatever was bringing these horrifying images was the devil's work, regardless if he was a work of Satan's evil monsters or not. He couldn't stand them, even more so as they brought clouds to his eyes and tears against his cheeks. Something was evidently wrong.

It's a tall beta that finds him first, Rayland padding into the woods miles from the house with a gentle smile. "Hey," He greets, seemingly surprised to have found the alpha pacing back and forth in a small circle. "We've been looking for you. Everything alright?"

"Yes." The blond wolf insists instantly, directing his glare up with washed-out red eyes. "Everything is peachy. Just taking a walk. Did something happen? Did the manor burn? Did Elias come back?"

The dirty blond cocks an eyebrow, hands on hips, shaking his skull back and forth with concern. "I... no, everything is just fine at the manor. Elias hasn't returned. You look a little tired, why don't you come back with me and have a seat? A cup of tea, maybe?"

"I need to get Eli back," Brent stutters even as he takes the elbow of his packmate, knowing the comfort of another being would settle his mind. He brings a fist to his forehead, causing a small headache to rupture in his skull. He lets out a frustrated grumble. "Do I look sick? Do you think I need to eat more?"

At this point, Rayland is simply perplexed, taking the man's hand and leading him up the porch to his palace, Defiant's beautiful brick manor. "You look fine, sir. You eat more than everybody in the omega den combined. Are you sure you're alright? You seem a bit... I dunno, troubled? Mentally?"

"It's just a dream I've been having, I'm fine," He assures, heading up the staircase to his bedroom, the walls one-hundred percent flameless. There he closes the door hard, collapses on his bed, and fights back sleep for three days to follow.

When he wakes, his pack is missing, the entire clan of werewolves dispersed like dust in the air.

***

Ginger crackles a tired eye open, finding her husband is perched up against her side like a small, close child, nearly shoving her off the mattress because of his extensive size. He's hot, sweat collecting on his forehead under the sheet, snoring loudly into her ear. She lets out a breathy grumble, thrusting his size away with her ankle. "Scoot the fuck over, Andy."

"You scoot the fuck over," He mumbles. Andrew's not much of a morning person now that he works his ass off five days a week. He's consistently exhausted, too tired to shower half of the time after a fit of making love. Dark bags collect under his partially-open perception, showing just how much he needed the dire rest.

"You're taking up the entire bed!" The female werewolf protests in a stubborn whimper, shoving him playfully with her arms. "Your eight-foot tall ass drapes off the mattress. We need a bigger bed or you're moving to the sofa."

"It's not the mattress, honey." The man leans over and rests his hand on the woman's stomach, rubbing slightly with his warm palm. He whispers in her ear as he inches towards her face to cup her cheek. "Someone is pregnant and can't find enough room to fit herself in this bed."

Ginger wails in a laugh, flipping over to her back and poking a look at her stomach. Barely a bump; it wasn't noticeable yet that she was expecting. She had gone into heat three weeks prior, the attraction of the scent emitting off her body was too much for either of the wolves to avoid, and obviously, the urge was uncontrollable. Andrew knew the minute he came home from work all was not right; the girl was pacing in front of the open window, uncomfortable and hot. With a small chuckle after he realized what was occurring, he offered to break her sweat with a little bed magic. Now she was pregnant and quite thrilled to have pups with her favorite person on the Earth. They would be perfect in every way; Ginger could tell just by the simple thought of her new children existing in her hips that they would be a happy handful.

"I'm barely expecting," She comments, rolling a golden eye. "You can't even tell, there's the slightest bump. It just so happens you've got a good enough nose to smell it. To the outside world, there is definitely not a miniature pack of werewolves in my stomach. I wonder how many I'll have."

"Two girls, one boy. My senses are telling me that's exactly what's brewing in there, and I'm going to have two beautiful, little daughters and a strong, big son." He grins cheerfully, kissing her bare skin along her waistline. The affection brings a sting of warmth to Ginger's body, and she breaks into a small smile, reaching down to rub her partner's head affectionately.

"I think I'll be having twins. Two boys."

Davie shakes his head. "Nope, I'm for sure on the number. Werewolves have from two to five pups, and I don't think you're capable of having the maximum. So, naturally, I pick the number in the middle. Father Davie knows best. When shall we tell my mum?"

"I want to say never, but I guess she has a right," The redhead rises from the bed where they were cozied up, stretching her arms up and heading to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee before they went off to work. In a few weeks, she would have to stop attending her job due to her pregnancy, as werewolves only lasted two months before their offspring were due. In that time frame, soon enough, they may be able to tell how many puppies she was expecting. "Can you make me some eggs and bacon, Andy?"

Barely does the tall man stumble out into the living room, letting a yawn escape his jaws full of sharp teeth before nodding a head sleepily. "Eggs and bacon, eggs and bacon... in werewolf terms, that means eight eggs and ten strips of bacon, right? More for your pups, too?"

"They love their daddy already," She smiles keenly, taking a sip of her hot coffee and leaning in to press a smooch to his forehead. He brings her up against the counter, letting out a small moan before capturing her lips. They kiss breathlessly for a few moments, tearing lips and muttering grunts and gasps of pleasure, breaking into a giggle after they realize the moment was gathering to be a bit too heated for eight A.M. "Okay, maybe not that much..."

"The girls will be Freya and Hazel, and the boy Winnie. Naturally." He finishes off with a kiss to her nose, pulling away to start on breakfast. The woman furrows an eyebrow, sliding herself onto the counter to sit and enjoy her hot beverage as it whisked steam around her freckles.

"Those are weird names. I like Winnie, and I get that, but Freya? Hazel? What is this, 'Fried Green Tomatoes'? I was thinking more of a Sofia for a girl and Sawyer for a boy. What if I only have one? What are you going to do then?"

He shrugs a shoulder and cracks numerous eggs into the hot iron skillet. "Freya or Winnie. Although I'm hoping for more than one, we could use the company."

After they finish breakfast, the two werewolves head off to work. Davie kisses his wife on the head goodbye and makes his way to the record label, alas Ginger walks to work down the block, a travel coffee mug in her hand. Through the brisk London wind, she must always carry a hot drink to soothe her chills. Sometimes, not having fur sucked.

It's after one when Andrew finally gets a smoke break, and he calls out to his co-workers to promise a quick return. Thus he closes out his last e-mail and hurries out of the door, breaking into a grin as he retrieves his pack of JPS and a lighter to go with it. Who said smoking would kill a werewolf? He was by far healthier than three humans combined, and adding super-strength and smell, the least a single cigarette could do was coat his lungs in tar. He'd quit when necessary.

On his second smoke, watching the cars and tourists pass along the street, a rustling from the alley brings his attention away from the city. He furrows an eyebrow, muttering underneath his breath. He's been jumped by his old packmates on their visits to the city much too often.

"Hey, who's there?" The man pokes his glare into the dark road next to the building, lifting his nose to distinguish a familiar scent. Defiant. "Okay, this isn't funny. I have to go to work, mate."

A quick strip of movement is seen in his peripheral vision before the world goes black.

***

Davie awakes to the same blackness as before, shuffling around to escape before he notices his hands and legs are tied up. He growls, moving his nose quickly, sniffling for a trail. It's the same musty, damp smell that Defiant marks their territory line with, causing the boy's heart to stop for a few moments. He screams in impediment, almost making an evident howl out before a hand claps over his mouth, restricting the sound in the room.

"Shush, you're okay," A sweet voice reassures, soft fur stroking his skin. Entirely one spirit could converse while being in their wolf form- the all-top alpha, Brenton fucking Cardway. He pulls the cover off of the werewolf's eyes, revealing the man's pretty red fur in front of him, a dark, unused room surrounding. He breaks a filthy grin. "Hi, Davie."

Andrew sneers. "What the hell do you want, Brent? I'm not playing hooky, I have a job and a wife who's pregnant. The last thing I want to be caught up in is your evil work."

"The only female red-headed werewolf, the Ginger? She's pregnant? How far along is she?" He asks curiously, crossing his arms against his chest clothed in a dress shirt and a bowtie. He always made sure to look absolutely ravishing regardless if he was kidnapping wolves and caging them in abandoned buildings.

He shrugs a shoulder. "Three weeks. I hope you know I'd do anything to keep her away from you, Brent. Those pups have no place in a pack like Defiant."

He cackles, nodding his head. "Of course I was going to offer to be their adoptive uncle. I'll have you know my pack is in no shape to raise puppies; for once, I'm asking you for help." The alpha pouts a lip, looking for pity. Andrew growls, showing his teeth. "Poor Davie, he has no ounce of sympathy for poor old me. My Elias has gone to live with your old pack, and I would like you to get him back for me."

Davie cocks an eyebrow. Unless Greycrest taunted Brent's favorite dog-wolf with a sausage on a string and lured him straight through the woods just to take him captive afterward, there would be no valid reasoning behind his pack family stealing such a precious object except for revenge. Elias would never move packs in a million years; he had an amazing life among Defiant and their beautiful dinners. "What did you do to anger them?"

"Me? Anger Greycrest? Silly no, honey, they've had control of the woods for months now." The man-wolf whines, sitting backward in a chair and folding his arms over the top. "Haven't you heard? I'm no longer superior."

Well, that would explain a lot. "I... no, I had no clue. I knew Ted was doing well for himself, and that they built a new manor, but I never heard of territory expansions. How many acres did they take?"

"I'm down to a little over a hundred." The alpha shrugs a shoulder, a bit depressed in his blood-red eyes. Realizing he still had Andrew hostage, Brent moves to untie his limbs, allowing the werewolf to stand.

He stretches longingly. Time to go see the lovely Ginger and his future puppies. "That's too bad. Hey, I know we're supposed to be enemies, but I'm not pack anymore, so-"

"You'd like me to have dinner with you and Ginger?" Brenton exclaims, growing warm in the cheeks as he folds his hands together hopefully. Not exactly. Davie lets out a sigh and flashes a crooked smile. The poor alpha was a bit too charming to disagree with.

He instantly regrets his offering the moment the boisterous alpha parades into the flat on the third floor of an old, peeling brick building. The wolf snuffles his nose, eyes intent on the one-bedroom apartment as soon as he steps an oxforded paw onto the hardwood floors.

"I say with all honesty that this is no place to raise a pack of pups." Hands on his hips, Brent toes about and picks at objects, books. The Davie's flat is quite barren and dull, with little objects but a television, his guitars, lots of novels, comfortable, pre-owned furniture, and dishes that needed washing. "You do intend to move to the country, right?"

Rolling his eyes, Andrew mutters, "Make yourself at home." The musician shoots a glare at his guest, clearing space on the sofa so that he can sit. "No, we'll be staying in the city. Both Ginger and I were raised here and it's made us who we are, for better or for worse."

"Where is your lovely lady, by chance? No offense, Davie, but you're a bucket of rocks waiting to be used for landscaping." Brenton sinks down to the floor and sniffs around on all fours, following a small trail before running straight into the girl as she exits the bedroom, drying her hair from a shower. He yelps, leaping to his feet to wrap her in a bone-crushing embrace. "Ginger! So wonderful to see you!"

"Brent... hi..." She says nonchalantly, shooting a glare to her husband who, with dull eyes, shakes his head. Why did you drag this thing home? "What brings you to our home?"

He followed me, he shrugs. "I invited him for dinner," Davie fakes a grin, clasping his palms together in an endearment that the alpha swallows up like liquid medicine. "He needs my help. Elias has gone to live with Greycrest."

"My poor darling," Brent mourns, sinking into the sofa with ears drooping down against his head. His loss is quite considerably disheartening; Andrew cannot imagine what it must feel like to lose the most important subject in his life, more so when it's his rival pack that's involved. "I miss him so much. I'm supposed to take care of him, his father put me in charge... I screwed it all up. I woke up one morning and he was gone. Took his fox stuffie with him."

"What reason would he have to leave?" The other man asks as he prepares a tray of cold meats, loaves of bread and cheeses. After remembering the creature was a drinker as well, he pours some wine. "I recall him being very loyal to you when I met him..."

The alpha shrugs his shoulders and lets out a huff, making his whiskers shiver. "He was loyal, or so I thought. I gave him everything he asked for. I guess it wasn't enough; besides, Greycrest is thriving. Maybe life was calling him for more than little old me." He downs the red wine in one gulp, licking it off his lips.

Dinner is quiet as the three werewolves dine at the old dining table. They scoff down an uncomfortable amount to any human, finishing off the bottle of wine and settling for some old champagne afterward. No wolf is a lightweight, regardless if they were in human life. Davie could have a case of beer in a little under an hour and be one-hundred percent, just as if he had wakened up on a Saturday afternoon nap.

Brent is the first to speak up, seemingly sure that the silence is due to his occupation in their personal space. "Ginger, I meant to tell you congratulations on the pregnancy. You're glowing; I'm sure they'll be gorgeous pups."

She blushes, sipping on her evening tea with cream and sugar. "Thank you. Davie thinks I'm due to have three, two girls and a boy. Is there any way to tell with a werewolf?"

"Rather not, but I have an elder who could make a good guess for you. She's been right most of the time. If that's something you're certain on knowing, I would be happy to take you to her." He rises from the chair and pushes it in, gathering up his thoughts. "Considering you're a friend of mine, I can't see why she wouldn't help you out."

"I'll go with," The husband says quickly, setting their glasses into the sink. "Maybe I can find out some things about Elias for you. Would you care if I went around the territory?"

"Of course not. Be my guests, there's not much territory for me to worry about anymore."

***

Everything smells like Greycrest. The rocks, the dirt, the water, and the grasses emit the strong, earthy smell of Andrew Davie's old pack, markings evidently smelling of particular members. Some are new and indistinguishable, but some are so familiar he almost crosses into the territory just to say hello. The one-hundred acres Defiant owns are depressingly small; most is moorland with little treeline or coverage. Hunting would be difficult without that cache available. Protection was limited, and the lowlands of Theydon couldn't be beneficial for avoiding humans. The werewolf almost feels sorry for his rivals as he notices how depressing their current state is. The government wasn't a part of pack-life; you either conquered every inch of the forest fairly or you fought for it. Peace was no option.

"Did you find anything?" Brent wonders as his friend reappears upon the manor grounds breathless. He stands out on the porch, obviously restless, looking upon his territory with anger brewing amongst his red pupils.

Davie shakes his head, leaning against the railing of the veranda and staring at his boots, weathered from years of wear. "Your one-hundred acres is a sorry excuse for a territory. At least in Greycrest, we had the river; caught fish and got fresh water. Did Ted take it all in one go?"

"No, I didn't let him. We fought tooth and nail for what we had; my territory has been beautiful and lush for generations and I wasn't going to lose it to that bloody bastard." He reaches for the cigarette the opposite is just beginning to pull out, setting it between his canines and lighting it swiftly. "I lost two betas and three omegas trying to keep this pack alive last summer. Even got me a battle scar doing it."

Brenton turns his attention to a small nick in his ear, a healed wound of absent tissue. He had obviously been bitten by someone who attempted to take out the entire ear in one go and failed miserably leaving the smallest bite.

"Damn. Who got you there?" Andrew wonders curiously, lighting his own fag and blowing a stream of thick, gray smoke into the darkened sky.

"Ted had his battle hounds come for me while I was leading away from the manor. Marcus, Ben and their newly-changed female knocked me off my feet and went for the throat. I took two out easy, but Marcus got a good chunk of my ear before Ted told them to retreat." He shrugs a shoulder, twitching his furry left ear in the breeze. "I think he considers it payback."

"A newly-changed female, huh? Does she belong to anyone? It's been a while since Greycrest has willingly let a recently of-age wolf do the dirty work, let along make it a girl."

"Ted and Georgie's daughter, I suppose she must have been expecting when you were still there. She's beautiful, mate, unavoidable to the eyes. They call her Aleena, and she is one mad cat. Luscious black and gray fur, dark gold eyes, the perfect alpha. Trust me, you'll smell her the minute you get onto that territory. They've made her a war dog."

"She sounds unavoidable, as would any offspring of Ted and Georgie's be. That reminds me, I need to go check on Ginger. Direct me to your elders, will you?"

They find the girl and an aging woman with gray hair in a braid sitting on a mat in the living room, the woman burning candles as she did evident witchcraft with a douce of herbs and flowers. Andrew nearly lets out a rude chuckle, coming to settle next to his wife slowly. He invites their alpha, but he retreats up the staircase before notice.

"You were right," The redhead says sweetly as she leans on his shoulder. "Three pups. We're going to make excellent parents, she said, but supposedly we should trust Brent and let him help guide them in the direction of pack-life."

"No offense, missus, but we're modern werewolves," He says to the woman across the rug, sniffing with his nose red clover and dried apple. A fertility spell, lovely. "I think we can handle guiding them into the right direction. Did you find out the genders?"

"Two girls and a boy," She smiles halfway through wrinkles, gathering up her supplies. Davie lets out a gasp and a told-you-so smirk to his partner, her cheeks growing pink finding he was accurate all along. In a little under two moons, they would be parents, and nothing could subside the unconditional excitement burning in their bones at the thought of meeting their pups.

The couple is unsettled as a herd of wolves returning from patrol fly through the doors at high speed, their grunts of displeasure echoing in the room.

"Brent! You might want to come see this!"


	2. What's A Man Anyhow?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davie goes to inspect the inner workings of his old pack and discovers there's more to their new alpha than just leadership.

Kev lowers his glasses to the head of his desk, a sheer glare of ridiculousness in his dark brown pupils. His throat surfaces a scoff. "You're telling you that you need the week off because your wife sprained her wrist. You could work with a sprained wrist. Anybody could."

Andrew shrugs his shoulders, small flashes of pink arriving on his throat. Sure, it was a stupid excuse to miss work and use up his only sick days, but with Defiant so broken as they were and Ginger mildly injured and majorly pregnant, he found no better time to use it. "Well, you know, she's pregnant. We can't risk losing her babies because of an injury. I think it would be best I stay home with her and make sure she doesn't do anything to worsen it."

"Babies... she's having multiple, right." The brunette sighs, leans back in his chair, and folds his hands on his chest, breathing up and down through his nose. "I'll never get used to having a werewolf as an employee, a friend, and a musical inspiration." The man brings his pen to a scrap of paper, scratching down a few notes and handing it over to Davie with a tiny smile.

Get better, Ginger. I need your husband. Ice your wrist. - Kev

"Thanks, Kev. I really appreciate it." The werewolf stands to his feet, towering height overwhelming to the opposite, and sinks in for a quick hug. "I'll be back as soon as I can. I can't afford to miss work for long; plus, I love working here."

"I know. Enjoy your time off." And with that, the creature toes out of the office, almost jumping in the air. Finally, he had a few days to think for himself.

Defiant had a murder the night he patrolled their territory. Rayland Baxter, one of Brent's most trusted advisors, had been out looking for a hunt when he was ambushed by a grouping of Greycrest's monitors. Not noticing he had stepped a few yards into their recently-claimed area of land, he had no choice but to allow the three to pick a fight. Obviously outnumbered by multiple wolves, he had fought his firmest but fell to his death with a bite to the throat.

With Elias still missing, Brenton had no choice but rage for peace between the packs. Davie, who was the easiest toy for communication between the two, was needed to ask for forgiveness the following evening. He didn't want to do it, but too many innocent lives were being taken for him to believe his head. His heart longed for peace between Greycrest and Defiant; it always had. The notion raged through his bloodstream the moment he was bitten.

Ginger was indeed suffering from a sprain to the wrist; a lie he had never spoken to Kev. A few days ago, doing her usual restocking of books in the bookshop, the girl tripped off of the ladder and fell to her knees, hand intercepting her fall in an unprecedented position. A tear to the ligament was evident as soon as she got a good look at the fracture; it definitely wasn't attractive and considering it was her dominant hand, in no way practical for the job.

The young woman returned home after her boss insisted, and waited patiently for her husband to return from work to inform him she was injured. He had been bewildered, breathless, troubled out of his consciousness, but nonetheless swift to get it looked at. A kind physician at a nearby clinic fixed it up in an expeditious fragment of time; the werewolf was given painkillers, a wrist splint, and a dispatch notifying her manager not to have her work for the excess of the week. She was a bit depressed nevertheless but taking her sweet time to lounge around in the flat as her partner had been insisting for the past weeks since they learned she was expecting.

"Hi darling," Andrew greets the moment he keys in the lock, dropping his bag onto the hardwood by the foyer and coming in to wrap his arm around her shoulder. She relaxes back on the sofa, reading a short, easy novel with curious green eyes. Ginger wasn't much for television; she didn't mind the occasional film, but unlike her sport-loving husband, the device wasn't interesting enough for hours of indulgence. "Kev says get better, soon, and he wants you to ice your wrist. He said, with a laugh, that he can't afford to not have me around."

"He can't," She grins, pecking his scruffy chin. "I can't wait to have you to myself for the rest of the week. I think we deserve it; we haven't had a day off other than Sunday in months."

"You're very right," The werewolf agrees, a smile on his face as he opens his backpack. "Just have to help Brent, and then we can relax like it's the honeymoon we've never had." The boy retrieves something from his things, unwrapping it from its paper bag. "Here, hun. Got you something on my lunch break."

"You didn't have to get me anything..." Alas, she takes the package and unfolds it. Beneath the cover is a medium-sized bone for a dog. Ginger gasps and throws the bag to the floor in excitement. "No! A rawhide! Don't tell me it's-"

"-vanilla," Davie smirks like a madman, watching his wife's eyes light up like a child on Christmas morning. She had always been fond of the canine treat, reminding her of her domestic days, but for the couple, sentiments were considered luxuries. The girl jumps into his arms and offers a tight hug. His creature heart swells. "You're welcome. Figured you could use a bone to keep yourself busy for the next few weeks." 

"No, you can't come with me." Andrew flashes an expression full of pity for his small wife, slipping the straps of his backpack onto his broad shoulders later that evening, the sun setting in his golden eyes. Ginger's appearance falls to the floor, faking a huge pout like that of a spoiled toddler. She crosses her arms across her chest, playing hard to get.

"Why not?" The damsel whines, scraping her foot across the hardwood. The sun was beginning to fall and the male werewolf had some business to attend to regarding Defiant and their peace with his former familiar pack. He would return very late, perhaps even early morningtide if the traffic decided to be a bitch as it usually was. It was near inconceivable to put London to rest.

"Because," He shrugs, a tiny sliver of a smile wrinkling upon his soft, bearded lips. "You're injured and I'm going to be gone for a long while, you need your sleep. I worry about you all the time, especially with the others... the last time you were left alone among the pack was..."

Ginger brings herself up on her tiptoes, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. "I know what happened. Yet, you saved me and you got me out of there as soon as you possibly could. Every night we slept in the truck bed you held me as if I'd disappear from thin air, wolf or not. I wouldn't be worrying about me; I'll be right there, and so will our puppies. They feel safer by their daddy anyway."

The man shrieks, hoisting her up in his arms and cradling her close. "You are the sweetest. Did you know I love you? Like, love you more than anything in the world?"

The girl giggles at his affectionate words, blushing in the cheeks. "Of course I know that, Andy. I'll protect you from the big bad wolves."

"I have to protect myself from you!" Tossing her out of the door, Davie can't think straight if Ginger's lacing her words with affection towards him. So, he decides mentally she will be able to come with him as long as she stays close to him.

Andrew hasn't smelled the stark, obvious scent emitting off of Greycrest's moorland in quite some time, and he almost hacks before falling into it's devious, sweet-smelling trap. The river provided it with thick, humid air, carrying the sweetgrass and evergreen through the air to the edges of the forest. He falls like dough to it, kneeling down to brush through the grass of his old pack boundaries.

Ginger, strutting close behind, barks playfully at his demeanor and comes lapping up the dew-stained weeds herself, ears curled back in meditation towards the scent. She remembers it too, not as well as her husband does, but can appreciate a familiar smell such as this, the smell of the most powerful werewolf pack in the Epping.

'You're acting like a kit,' The she-wolf transfers to her mate, bounding up to him with a little limp in her front paw. Injuries healed much faster on werewolves than humans, but yet, her fracture was new and wouldn't allow her to run and jump for a week or so.

Davie comes over to lick behind her ear, warmly nuzzling her snout. 'I'm home, you know.'

'Of course, I know,' Ginger flicks her tail, showing her obvious frustration. 'But I doubt we're welcome. We did leave so suddenly, and Ted was going to make you an alpha.'

'I am an alpha,' He snickers, tussling with his wife by brushing his flank against her's and nibbling among her hocks. She growls playfully, nudging him forward towards the manor. 'Your alpha. Our pups better watch their paws.'

As they approach the luscious manor, much larger and in better condition than their's had ever looked, the smell began to waft into their nasal passages and bring shudders down their spines. The brick was a fresh, new red color, with stone touches and a beautiful wrap-around porch. Hopefully, they would be able to see the inside and it's more elegant touches.

Joey can't think straight once he notices the two wolves approaching their manor as he's busy sunning himself on the porch as the hot ball of gas is settling under the horizon, standing to his two legs and meeting them at the head of the homestead.

"Davie! You've come back!" He leans down to hug the large werewolf, scratching behind his ears. "And you brought Ginger, who's..." Joey Ryan lifts his nose, taking a long stretch of the air and widening his golden pupils. "Expecting! Congratulations! Oh, I've missed you so much."

The smell of a pack mate could always turn the mind of a werewolf, considering those they run with are by day and by night the closest to family the creatures ever have. With a wife, children on the way, and a mother who accepted him, Davie had no apparent need for a family of wolves anymore, but leaning in for another hard embrace filled his heart with cheery emotions. 

He could be away for ten years and still miss the drowning, century-old sense of kin from one werewolf to another. 

"Davie, I... I have bad news," The man explains, his golden eyes filling with a grey shimmer. Mournfully, he explains the story behind the loss of his closest friend, and one of Andrew's favorite pack members, Kenneth. "He just... he couldn't take it anymore. He went off to burn the last ten acres of Defiant's territory and they lost him in the fire. They said there was a pup, and he heard it scream, and he just had to save it... it's exactly what he would do, he was so strong, but..."

Ginger is the first to react, and surprisingly, reassure Joey as he wiped a few tears from his cheeks. Kenny had been the one on the day of her kidnapping, seeming like many moons ago, who bounded up the evergreen pines to knock squirrels down for her to chase. Her first hunting lesson as a werewolf was one that she would never forget. She brushed up against his flank, whimpering. 

"I'm sorry too, Joey. I loved Kenneth, we all did. Tell me about the rest of the pack, I came to help." Recently changed and clothed, the man comes over to properly hug him, whisking away the sorrows and returning it with a positive note. Joey shrugs a shoulder and points to the door, inviting the werewolves inside the new manor. "This had to take long, it's beautiful."

"Thank you," The brunette drops his head proudly, dark whips of hair falling over his eyes. "We didn't build it. Ted called a contractor and it was finished in a few days. It was the first thing he wanted to do when he became alpha."

Calling a contractor to build a werewolf manor? What kind of improper, business-like house did Ted Dick think he was running? The home of a pack was supposed to carry legacies of life and leaders, with paw prints creased in the concrete flooring, scratch-marks from ancestors on the doors, and leaky pipes due to teeth marks. "Oh, that's... interesting. I'm sure there's still lots of character, though, Ted always liked art and naturalistic-"

"It's modern. More like a country estate. Georgie had most of the say in it. We wipe our paws on the front mat. Keeps it clean. You'll love it, come have a look." 

As Joey leads the duo into the house, it's apparent that the pack had chosen a new way of living. The country mansion was clean, with dark walls and new wooden flooring running through the entirety. The kitchen had a grand alpha table and was littered with dishes and mugs, the living and study with non-comfortable, plush furniture, and a television. They'd never had technology in the old manor- the lines were never put in. That kept things peaceful, and orderly. If you wanted the news, expect to go into town and ask someone. Even the newspaper didn't come out this far. 

Ginger loved the manor. She couldn't get enough of how much like a suburban townhouse it looked; in fact, she hadn't been this at home since Paul and Lydia were taking care of her. It smelled homey, even more so with the mixed odors of werewolves, her type, living in such an establishment. Her lips even curled as she paraded across the plush rugs, her snout sniffing, a content glimmer in her eyes. Motherly instincts kicked in; she wanted her pups to grow up someplace like this, where it was clearly established what a home was supposed to be like.

Davie, on the other hand, couldn't have hated it more. It wasn't a manor- it was a high-class frat house. Blood marks weren't tricked on the floor, and it was warm and stuffy like the fresh air couldn't have been ignored less. What kind of wolf- bitten or not- would want to live so humanly, where the grass was farther than a paw's reach and mice were trapped under layers of concrete? It didn't seem right- something was different.

That difference was Jools' absence. 

As alpha, he carried after his parents. He was lazy, but he was hereditary genius. He knew what is was like to be a pure-bred werewolf, ancestors after him leading him on a path of succession that would later be carried on by his children. The lineage was over, and the blood was different. Ted had just been around for power. He never wanted things to be just as they were- he was looking to start a whole new generation of werewolves, killers, with drool wiped from their jaws as they came home to food on the table and fresh linens. 

He wasn't out for family, and for tradition. He was out for blood.


End file.
